The Annunciation

Lowliest of women, and most glorified!
In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone,
A brightness round thee grew--and by thy side,
Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,
Solemn, yet breathing gladness. From her throne
A queen had risen with more imperial eye,
A stately prophetess of victory
From her proud lyre had struck a tempest’s tone,
For such high tidings as to thee were brought,
Chosen of heaven! that hour: but thou, oh! thou,
E’en as a flower with gracious rains o’erfraught,
Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow,
And take to thy meek breast th’ all-holy word,
And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.